Acclaimed artist and Cryptic Associate Sven Werner has created this immersive installation as part of the closing celebrations for Homecoming Scotland 2014. Described as a Victorian world in miniature, participants spend five minutes or so peering through vintage viewfinders, separated from the crowd by a black cloth draped over the shoulders.

The two tiny installations – one a snowy cottage, and the other a lonely train carriage slowly trundling along – are charming, and have been constructed with a huge amount of affection. The set is aesthetically delicious: stacks of suitcases, timeworn leather benches, and old cameras on wooden tripods. It looks as though it has organically grown out of travel detritus, although the actual placing of it within the station is odd. Pressed up against the ticket barriers, it acts like a rock in a river when waves of commuters swarm through the gates. It is very brightly exposed and centralized, which means that the bold act of engaging with the unknown requires a little more bravery. The stories themselves are curious beasts: tales of departure and arrival and all that’s in between, relayed in a softly American drawl – truly a voice to get lost in. The content itself is slightly less engaging. Perhaps ‘magic’ is a subjective concept, but instead of feeling transported away by the narrative, I felt very still and static.

And this is where the problem lies; the beauty of successful immersive theatre events is the ability to forget time and lose yourself in the experience, whereas Station Stories makes the participant hyper-aware of passing moments. Every few minutes, the familiar chirrups of the Scotrail lady announcing the latest delays pervade the space, and the shadows of passing footfall can prove distracting. The isolation isn’t isolated enough to allow you to feel transported, so instead you become conspicuously aware. On paper, Homecoming: Station Stories ticks a lot of boxes for me – I’m not ashamed to admit my all-encompassing love for trains, Victoriana, and story-telling – but sadly the installation failed to move me.

Irina is a persistent theatre-goer who has written for The Wee Review since 2014. She has also written for Exeunt and The List. She likes concrete quite a lot and dislikes talking about herself in the third person.